


Uneasy Being Green

by Tallulah_Rasa



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Dr. Seuss - Freeform, F/M, Green Eggs and Ham, Humor, St. Patrick's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:22:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1872957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallulah_Rasa/pseuds/Tallulah_Rasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam deals with St. Patrick's Day and Ainsley, while Toby, Josh and CJ deal with other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uneasy Being Green

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written/posted in 2003.

"What's the matter?" Donna asked, settling beside Sam at the only available table in the mess.  "Don't like your breakfast?"

Sam poked suspiciously at his plate, gauged the plate's reaction, gauged Donna's reaction, and then sighed.  "I don't _understand_ my breakfast."  
  
"I just eat mine," Bonnie offered from a nearby table.  "I don't ask it to explain itself."  
  
Sam knew it was a lost cause, but gamely continued anyway.  "It's just not right," he said.  "It's wrong."  
  
"It's Saint Patrick's Day," Donna said.  "Go with the flow.  Have some fun!"  
  
"This isn't fun," Sam insisted.  "It's intrinsically unnatural, like a Republican who--"  
  
"Oh, please continue,"  Ainsley said, having materialized from somewhere behind Sam's chair.  
  
"--who cuts me a break," Sam finished, because it had already been a lost cause, and was now only more so, and he had long been used to that.  "You don't have an extra doughnut, or anything, do you?"  
  
"I do," Ainsley said,  "but we all know Republicans don't give handouts to those who can help themselves.  And you, Sam, have a perfectly good breakfast right there in front of you.  A holiday breakfast, even."  
  
"I'd settle for a Poptart," Sam said to no one in particular.  
  
"You do not like green eggs and ham?"  Ainsley said in a sing-song voice loud enough for most of the mess to hear.  
  
Sam stifled another sigh.  St. Patrick's Day was always like this.  He'd had hopes, when he was younger, that someday it would become someone else's cross to bear, but so far that hadn't panned out. He was considering giving up hope.  "I do not like them," he agreed mechanically.  Maybe if he found another job, one where someone else - preferably a younger someone else - was named "Sam"...  
  
"He does not like green eggs and ham," Ainsley announced to the mess at large while Donna giggled.  "He does not like them in the mess..."  
  
"Or with a radio address," Bonnie chimed in. "He does not like them in this nation..."  
  
"With secret plans to fight inflation!" Donna called out gleefully, even though that hadn't been Sam's mistake at all.  "He will not eat them in a box, he will not eat them in his socks..."  
  
"He can not eat them on the unemployment line if he doesn't get his ass upstairs in two minutes," Toby said calmly, having done the materialization thing somewhere behind Ainsley.  Sam was unsurprised.  Nothing good ever happened to him on St. Patrick's Day.  
  
"That didn't rhyme," Bonnie said under her breath.  
  
"You act like chickens, cluck, cluck, cluck," Toby began, his voice carrying probably to the Hill, and possibly to the Kremlin.  "My deputy is such a shmu\--"

"I just wanted breakfast," Sam said, in the tone a person uses when he knows no one is listening to a thing he says.  
  
"You should have had green eggs and ham," Ainsley said, seeing a dead horse in need of a beating.  "You should have had them, Sam-I-Am."  
  
Toby's "What is _wrong_ with you people?" was directed toward  Ainsley, and not him, and Sam felt almost lucky as he slipped away.  
  
*******************************************************************************************

He made it to his office without anyone engaging him in conversation about a fox or a box, and noted that, unlike the last two years, there was no Dr. Seuss book on his desk.  So far, anyway. There _was_ a lengthy speech which he'd labored on until 2 AM, and which was now buried in a sea of Toby's red-inked comments and editorial criticisms.  Sam's stomach  grumbled, and he allowed himself the passing thought that it was going to be a long, long day.  
  
At least Toby wasn't using green ink.  
  
Josh appeared in Sam's doorway.  "Staff," he announced.  "You going...?"

Sam wondered if he actually had a choice about the meeting.  "I went to the mess," he said, because he knew there was no choice, and because he thought he might as well get Josh's inevitable comments out of the way.  
  
"Yeah," Josh said, his mind clearly elsewhere.  
  
"I do not like green eggs and ham," Sam said, because he knew it was coming, eventually, and  it was sometimes better to take the offensive.  And maybe this would somehow demonstrate a sense of sportsmanship and good humor to the rest of the staff, and they'd lay off the Sam-I-Am jokes for the rest of the day.  Also, truly, he hated the mess' unfortunate tendency to spread St. Patrick's Day cheer via food coloring.  
  
"Would you stop that already?" CJ called out as she sailed by the door. "Honestly, someone would think the two of you were in preschool."  
  
"I didn't say anything!" Josh said.  
  
"Okay, then. Josh, keep up the good work," CJ continued.  "Sam, grow up." She disappeared down the hall.  
  
"I hate St. Patrick's Day," Sam said to her retreating figure.  
  
"You really shouldn't whine," Josh counseled as they left the office and made their way to their meeting.  "Women really don't like that sort of thing."  
  
Sam wondered how woman felt about men who murdered their co-workers with a baseball bat.  He probably couldn't actually have less success with women than he was currently having, so it wasn't an entirely untenable option.  
  
************************************************************************************************

The staff meeting was highlighted by surly moods, snappish comments, and Leo suggesting that Sam start and finish two days' worth of work before going home that night.  This came on the heels of Toby demanding that Sam do the same thing for an unrelated project, so Sam felt this St. Patrick's Day was running pretty much par for the course.  
  
He returned to his office to find a copy of "Green Eggs and Ham" on his desk.  He swept it into a drawer as Donna showed up, beaming.  "I thought you might want this," she said, extending a paper bag in Sam's direction.  
  
Inside were the remains of his breakfast, now not only green but also congealed and nauseating.  He did not hit Donna with the bag, and mourned, for a tiny moment, the fact that no one would ever know about this quiet act of boundless self-control.  He had always hoped that his finest hour would benefit mankind, and perhaps even draw the notice of a few people. He was considering giving up on that dream, too.  
  
He thanked Donna politely, closed his office door, banged his head on it a few times, took a handful of Tylenol, and sat down to work. 

Bonnie knocked a few hours later.  "You have the--"  
  
"I know," he said.  "I'll be there."  
  
"You have to call Senator Kalmbach," she went on, flipping through a stack of messages.  "Also Representative Hastings, the Assistant Secretary of HUD, somebody from Vanity Fair, and your father.  Oh, and Ainley sent you this." She laid a doughnut on his desk.  It was green, but he was hungry, so he took a huge bite anyway.  
  
"Tell her thanks" he said with his mouth full.  "And give her this." He handed Bonnie the folder he'd been working on.  "Tell her I need a synopsis by tonight.  No, tell her Leo needs it. If you tell her _I_ need it, she'll probably write it in rhyme.  In green ink."  
  
Bonnie accepted the folder and rolled her  eyes."You know what your problem is?"  
  
"Yes," Sam said.  
  
Bonnie gave him a look, and he thought it was almost sympathetic.  "All right, then."  
  
"Give me a heads up fifteen minutes before the thing, okay? And hold my calls.  Toby's going to kill me if I don't finish this."  
  
"Toby will find some reason to kill you even if you do finish it," Bonnie said as she turned for the door.  "He's really in a mood today. I think he hates St. Patrick's Day even more than you do."  
  
"No one hates St. Patrick's Day more than I do," Sam said as he hunched over his laptop again, but Bonnie had already closed the door.  
  
******************************

By nine o'clock that night Toby had threatened him with defenestration twice and the rack once, and had gone back and forth three times about the changes he wanted Sam to make to the President's speech to the AFL-CIO.  The beginning was now back to its original state, the way it had been three days and fourteen edits ago.  Sam ran a hand through his hair, squinted at the blinking cursor on his laptop, and sighed.  Eventually, he hoped,  Toby would go back to the original  middle and end sections of the speech as well.  Now the middle section sounded as though it had been written by someone with an enormous grudge against corporate America. This was balanced by the last part, which came across as being written by someone - a Republican someone - with an equally enormous grudge against labor.   Sam had pointed out neither of these facts to his boss.  He was not particularly eager to see what Toby would come up with after defenestration and the rack, and anyway, he had to finish both this _and_ Leo's position paper if he was ever going to make it home, or at least live till morning.  
  
He tapped a few keys and opened Leo's file, offering a short prayer that  Ainsley was finishing the bit he'd farmed out to her.  He _had_ to have it finished on time.  If he didn't, Leo would kill him. 

No. He'd have CJ do it.

And he'd still expect Sam to finish the project.  
  
The words on the screen swam in front of his eyes.  At least, he thought, as his head sank forward, St. Patrick's Day was almost over.

_Sam was dreaming.  He knew he was dreaming, because it was a beautiful, glorious day, and he wasn't in his office, but out sailing.  The ocean was shimmering,   shards of light dancing on an endless expanse of emerald green.  If that wasn't enough of a clue, the sails - usually a pristine white - were also green, and even the sky had a distinctly greenish tint._ 

__And as a final kicker, Ainsley was sitting on the deck in a bright green bikini._  
_  
 _This couldn't end well._ _  
  
_Sam ventured cautiously to Ainsley's side.  She looked up and smiled, and he found that hopeful, if somewhat confusing._ _

_"Hi" he said, because he was fairly sure nothing bad could come of that._

_"Do you like me on a boat, Sam?" Ainsley asked, fluttering her lashes at _ _ _him.  "Do you like me all afloat?  Would you like me in a car? Traveling from near and f__..."

_And he had to stop her, he **had** to, and there was only one thing to do, and he did it. He kissed her. And it worked, so he kissed her again, and they sailed on under the pale green sky._

Someone was yelling in the office next door, but Sam slept on.

*************************************************************************************************

  
Toby scrawled another angry red line across the closely-typed paper on his desk, almost tearing it in half.  "Who the hell wrote this crap?" he yelled.  This was what came of working with morons, and politicians -- not that they weren't one and the same thing.  You couldn't kowtow to corporations; he'd said that all along.  But you couldn't lay down in front of labor, oh no!  It was like the drop-in to the environmental group: you had to be cruel to be kind.  Sam hadn't liked that, and neither had the environmentalists, but he was _right_ , damn it.  Well, Sam hadn't said a thing about this speech, so maybe he was finally learning.  He hadn't said much all day, actually, except for some stupid rhyming game he was playing with Ainsley in the mess that morning. Amazing that anyone had the energy to play in this place, but that was the young for you.  Youth was certainly wasted on them. Toby rubbed his eyes. Well, _he_ didn't need youth. He made his way to the couch and settled  heavily  into the cushions.  A brief rest, that's all he needed, and then he'd fix the damned speech, and everything else in this place, because he was Toby Ziegler, and he was...  
  
 _Late.  It was late, and he was rushing   down the hall, and how did it get so damned late?  "I'm sorry I'm late, Mr. President," he called as he burst into the Oval Office, and then he stopped cold as he took in the man behind the historic, elaborate desk._ _  
_  
 _"Glad you could finally join us," said President Ritchie.  "Though I have to tell you, in this administration, when we say 7 AM, we actually mean __7 AM_ _."_ _  
_  
 _"Yes, sir," Toby said automatically, searching the room for a familiar face and finding only one.  "But..."_ _  
_  
 _"Is there a problem?" President Ritchie asked impatiently._  
  
 _"I'm sorry sir, but...isn't there something wrong here?"_ _  
_  
 _"It seems that way at first," Ainsley piped up.  "Being the token, I mean. It seems strange to the only woman in the room, for instance, or, in your case, the only Democrat in a room full of Republicans.  But take it from me, after a while you get used to it_."  
  
 _Toby stared at her.  "I'm the only...?"_ _  
_  
 _She nodded briskly.  "The only Democrat in the room, that's correct. The only Democrat in the building, if I'm not mistaken."  
  
"How...?"_ _  
_  
 _"Well, it turned out the public loved the idea of someone from the opposition being on President Bartlet's staff.  They thought it was a great bipartisan gesture, and that sort of thing always does well in the polls.  So President Ritchie decided to offer a job to one of the outgoing Bartlet staffers.  I mean, since you all already knew the ropes, and all."  _

_Toby stared at her._

_"Of course, in this administration, you're expected to agree with the President," she added.  "None of that liberal crap about honoring other viewpoints **here**."_

_"And you chose **me** for this job?" Toby choked out.  "Why, in the name of...?"_ _  
_  
 _"Sam Seaborn,"  President Ritchie said, as thought that explained everything._ _  
_  
 _"President Ritchie offered the job to Sam," Ainsley continued, since Toby didn't seem to understand.  Democrats were often slow, she knew. "But Sam said he wasn't qualified.  He insisted you were the best man for the job."_ _  
_  
 _"He really sang your praises," another staffer concurred, pulling at the collar of his button-down shirt._ _  
_  
 _"He meant what he said, and he said what he meant," the President added. "Your deputy's faithful, one hundred percent."  He smiled at Toby.  "You must be a hell of a boss to get that kind of support from a subordinate."_ _  
_  
 _Toby thought back over the past few years.  Surely he hadn't been **that** awful to Sam?_ _  
_  
 _Oh, hell.  He had.  He was so very, very screwed._ _  
_  
 _"Please," he said.  "You've got this all wrong. Very, very wrong. You have to listen to me.  You have to...YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO ME!!"_ _  
_  
*********************************************************************************************  
  
CJ stopped briefly outside Toby's closed door, but decided not to interfere. If Toby was yelling at Sam again, well, that was Sam's problem.  She walked through the mostly-empty bullpen, down the corridor, and across the hall to her office, and sank wearily into a chair.  Sam just had to learn how to look out for himself, that was all there was to it.   That what she did. Right now, for example.  She was tired, and it was late, and she had work to do.  She wasn't getting involved in anyone else's petty problems.  Not to mention the childish behavior -- why, if she closed her eyes, she could absolutely _see_ Sam in his office, spouting Dr. Seuss to Josh.  They were as bad as children, or Charlie, or for that matter Danny  Concannon....  
  
 _The room was white.  That made sense, as this was, after all, the White House, but CJ didn't remember a room so large, and so looming, and so very,very white.  Also, there was a gate, and Danny Concannon was standing beside it in a truly ridiculous-looking white robe._ _  
_  
 _"Danny," CJ began._ _  
_  
 _"One fish," Danny intoned sternly.  "Two fish."_ _  
_  
 _"Danny," CJ said again, but Danny silenced her with a look._ _  
_  
 _"Old fish.  New fish."  He glared at her.  "Dead fish."_ _  
_  
 _"True, fish," CJ offered with a  giggle.  "Danny, what the hell is--"_ _  
_  
 _" Ssh," Danny ordered.  "No 'hell' talk here.  And you don't speak until you're called on."_ _  
_  
 _"I'm the Press Secretary!" CJ said, outraged. " **I** call on **you**."_ _  
  
 _"Not here," Danny said._  
_  
 _CJ looked around suspiciously.  "And here is...?"_ _  
_  
 _"No questions," Danny said.  "And no photos."_ _  
_  
 _"But--"_ _  
_  
 _"I can have your credentials revoked," Danny warned_.  
  
 _'If this is about Gail, I can explain," CJ said._ _  
_  
 _"One fish," Danny said sadly.  "Two fish."_ _  
_  
 _"Think of her as Gail Two," CJ said quickly.  "And really,   a goldfish has a very short life span..."_ _  
_  
 _"Old fish, new fish," Danny went on.  "All neglected."_ _  
_  
 _"That's not fair, Danny!" CJ shot out.  "I have a very demanding job!"_ _  
_  
 _"And rejected."_ _  
_  
 _"I didn't -- Danny, that's ridiculous, no one rejects a fish. Fish are just--"_ _  
_  
 _"Why does CJ act so mean?  I don't know.  Go ask the Queen."_ _  
_  
 _"Are you saying I--"_ _  
_  
 _"One fish, two fish," Danny announced, as if passing sentence.  He pointed at CJ, who was suddenly surrounded by a host of white-robed reporters brandishing cameras, pads, and goldfish bowls. "Sad and blue fish!"  
  
"Tell us, CJ," the reporters yelled, "is it true you don't have a kind word for your coworkers, and that you kill your pets?"_ _  
  
 _"I---I---" CJ said wildly, sweat dripping into her eyes. "I..."_  
_  
Someone was shaking her.  She opened her eyes.  "You what?" Carol asked.  
  
"I--nothing," CJ said. She was shaking. "I must have fallen asleep."  
  
Carol nodded.  "Well, it's another late night.  I heard Bonnie say Sam probably won't get home at all.  But hey, I went down to the mess, and they put out some snacks for us.  Everything's green, but it's still food.  I got fish and chips.  Want some?"  
  
CJ just groaned.  
  
********************************************************************************************  
  
Josh stared at the pile on his desk, as though willing it to grow smaller. He'd been at it all day -- all day! -- and he still hadn't made a dent in it.  Leo had pulled him aside before his meeting with the Democratic leadership, and said he wanted the pile read and sorted and _done_ , and Josh had said, "No problem."  Except it was.  And that had to be someone's fault, didn't it?  He was hungry and tired, and doing the work of two men, and...

Two men.  That was it.  Sam should be helping him.  And Donna should be helping, too, because hadn't he told her to find him something to eat, like, hours ago?  He was going to fire Donna. After she got him the food, and got Sam to come help him.  She was good at getting people to do things.  And she was younger than he was, so she _should_ be doing things, because he was older, and wiser, and her boss.  And he was tired. He'd rest his eyes for just a minute, and then he'd call Donna to get Sam for him, and then ...

  
_"Donna!"  he yelled._ _  
  
 _"You don't have to yell, Josh," she said.  "I'm right here."_  
  
 _"There's too much stuff on my desk," he said._  
  
 _"I'm heartbroken for you," Donna said._  
  
 _"Get Sam," Josh wheedled.  "Tell him to help me."_  
  
 _"Sam's doing stuff for Toby, and for Leo, and he has a food-tasting thing going on.  And anyway, this isn't Sam's job," Donna said.  "It's yours. "_  
  
 _"You're my assistant," Josh said sternly.  "You have to help me."_  
  
 _"Not true," Donna said._  
  
 _"What do you mean?  Of course you're my assistant."_  
  
 _"I'm your assistant, Josh," Donna said.  "But when Leo went up to the House for the day, he said, 'Somebody has to clean all this away.  Somebody, SOMEBODY has to, you see.'  And he picked out a somebody \--  you, Josh. Not me."_  
  
 _Josh simply looked at her for a moment, his mouth hanging open.  "Sam put you up to this, didn't he?" he finally asked when he could form words again. "Damn, I should never have left that Dr. Seuss book on his desk.  Look, I'll take it back.  And I'll tell Ainsley to knock off with the poetry._  
 _Donna, you have to help me here.  Please.  Please, please, help me..."_  
_  
Bonnie stood with Donna by Josh's door.   " 'Please, please help me?' You really do have him trained," she said in awe.  
  
Donna smiled modestly.  "You ready to go to the mess?'  
  
"Sure.  But what's the rush?  Josh probably won't wake up for a while.  And I wouldn't think you'd want to spoil him with goodies now -- it'll undo all your hard work."  
  
"Oh, I don't want to get something for Josh," Donna said.  "Don't laugh, but I want to get a sandwich for Sam."  
  
"You too?" Bonnie grinned.  "He _is_ having a kind of rough day."  
  
"And he really is a sweetie," Donna said.  "Besides, _I_ don't like green eggs, either."

 

*************************************************************************************************

  
"Sam?" a voice said near his ear.  
  
"Go away," he said urgently, because reality in no way could be as good as this dream, ever, and if he woke up it would probably still be St. Patrick's Day.  
  
"Sam?" It was Ainsley's voice, and louder now.  "I've got that synopsis you wanted. The one for Leo. I have it here in a box.  I have it in a box with locks. I have it with some eggs and ham, I really have it, S---"  
  
"SHUP UP, AINSLEY!" Sam yelled. 

She was stunned into silence.  He sat up, snatched the report from her outstretched hand and stared at her for a minute.  She wasn't wearing green, but she looked pretty good. What the hell, he thought. Opportunities came to those who made them, and the day couldn't get any worse, and he really, really hated green eggs.  "I feel like getting some Chinese food, and maybe seeing a movie," he announced. "Want to come?"

Ainsley, still mute, nodded once tentatively, and then again more firmly.  
  
"Okay, then," Sam said, trying not to let his surprise show. "We'll just--"  
  
"Tell me something," Toby demanded from the doorway.  What was left of his hair was on end. He looked, Sam thought, like the entry for "distraught" in a pictorial dictionary. "Am I a Democrat?"  
  
'You' re _the_ Democrat," Sam said without missing a beat.  
  
"And you?"  
  
"I believe in freedom of choice, freedom of speech, clean air, gun control, affirmative action and the ERA," Sam said.  "Almost everybody in this building does."  
  
Toby eyed  Ainsley suspiciously.  
  
"I said _almost_ everybody," Sam said, before  Ainsley could open her mouth. He was enjoying the quiet, and besides, he felt a strange urge to protect her.  "She's a Republican, but she's basically okay.  And I'm trying to convince her of the error of her ways."  
  
"I don't listen to a thing he says," Ainsley said primly, but she was blushing.  
  
"I love you both," Toby said, stepping into the office and quickly hugging Sam before taking off down the hall.  "And the speech you wrote?" he called over his shoulder.  "The original version is fine.  Wonderful, in fact."  
  
Sam stared after him for a moment, and then turned to the window and focused intently on the view outside.  
  
"Sam?  That was weird," Ainsley said.  She followed him to the window and practically burrowed into his side.  
  
"Sssh," he said, peering into the starry night.  "I think there may be pigs flying out there."  
  
"Can we look for them on the way to the restaurant?" Ainsley asked, squeezing his arm.  "I'm hungry."  
  
"Okay," Sam said, because you never knew when flying pigs might decide to land, and you had to take advantage of the moment. "We can go as soon as I drop off the stuff for Leo."   
  
"I'll take it for you," Josh said from the door.  "You go.  If Leo needs any changes, I'll do 'em."  
  
Sam looked at him for a moment. "Well, okay," he said.  You couldn't argue with flying pigs. You _shouldn't_ argue with flying pigs.  Not in a box, and not in your socks, and probably not in a Chinese restaurant with Ainsley.  He handed Josh the files, and watched him hurry off to the Chief of Staff's office.  "Okay, we're going. But Ainsley, even if we order green food, we're not doing  Dr. Seuss."  
  
"Okay," Ainsley said, nodding.  
  
"And also," Sam said, because he was on a roll, "sometime during the course of the evening, I'm going to kiss you.  Probably more than once."  
  
"Okay," Ainsley said again, taking his hand as they walked past the guards and the security checkpoint.  
  
CJ was standing by the reception desk as they signed out.  She beamed at Sam. "Are you going? That's good.  Have a wonderful evening."  
  
"You too, CJ," Sam said.  
  
"And don't worry about Toby," CJ added.  "I'll take care of him."  
  
"That's good," Ainsley said.  "Because Sam might be late tomorrow."  
  
"Well, that's good," CJ said.  
  
"I think so," said Ainsley.  
  
They both smiled at Sam, and he knew that just this once, whatever he said would be the right thing, no matter what it was.  "Okay," he said, and it occurred to him that from now on St. Patrick's Day was probably going to be his favorite holiday.  And that, just possibly, he might yet develop a fondness for green eggs and ham.  
  
END

 


End file.
